It was a cool fall evening in Arizona when I met the person who would become my husband. I was 16 years old, and since I had just gotten my driver’s license, I was often the one driving my 13-year-old brother around. That night, I went to pick him up from his basketball practice at a high school I didn’t know well. While I was trying to find the gym, I saw a football player on crutches coming out of a building, holding a bag of ice.
He had curly black hair and a kind smile, even though he was clearly in pain. I asked if he was okay, and he told me he had just sprained his ankle. We started talking. He guessed who my brother was by noticing my red hair, and he offered to show me where the gym was. I thanked him and said I was glad I had run into him, and I meant it.
A couple of weeks later, we got together at a Starbucks café. We didn’t call it a date, but we talked for hours. A barista even joked that we must really like each other since we hadn’t ordered more drinks. He was right. Not long after that, he planned a scavenger hunt that ended at that same Starbucks, where he gave me a Christmas ornament as a clue. The last stop was our town’s big Christmas tree, where he asked me to the winter formal, our first real date.
Later, things changed at my school, and my parents moved my brother and me to that same Catholic school. We weren’t Catholic, but I didn’t care. I was just happy to be near the boy who had become my best friend and boyfriend. We spent two great years together in high school and fell in love young.
When college started, we were tested. I went to Idaho, and he got a football scholarship in Montana. We tried long distance, but it didn’t work. We broke up, and I made plans to visit him one last time before heading back to school. I had already bought my ticket, and I couldn’t afford to change it. When I saw him at the airport, on crutches again, everything felt right. We realized it wasn’t us that failed—it was just the distance. We got back together that day.
Months later, we visited a jewelry store, but he had already bought a ring. He proposed not long after. We were only 19 when we got married. Everyone said we were too young, but I never doubted it. We grew up together, finished school together, and even went through another season of distance when he joined the police academy.
Life as the spouse of a police officer comes with challenges, late-night shifts, holidays spent apart, and times filled with worry. But we’ve learned how to communicate and lean on each other. I’ve cried, I’ve prayed, and I’ve felt scared. But I’ve also felt proud. He doesn’t do it for praise, it’s his calling.
The day he watched me leave on that shuttle back in Montana, he told me, “You came into my life when I was broken, and now I realize you’re everything I didn’t even know I needed.” He still is. I’m thankful I found my best friend so early, and I’m even more thankful we’ve had the chance to grow up side by side.
